Decision

by Allen Drury

  Five minutes after that all gentle sounds abruptly ceased. An ugly roar went up, filled with hate. The defendant, walking in a square of armed police who glared sternly at the nearest watchers as they threatened to break across the ropes and engulf the prisoner, stepped out of an armored van and started for the entrance. His head was bandaged (a protection no longer necessary medically, but with an eye to television he had insisted upon it when his counsel had visited him soon after breakfast). He held his right arm awkwardly against his body and walked with a definite limp, particularly in his left leg. “Stop faking, you phony bastard!” some woman screamed at him, but he only tossed her a contemptuous smile and walked on. The roar swelled, multiplied, became more ominous.

  Behind him came Debbie, eyes straight ahead, face expressionless. Rotten eggs, two rotten pumpkins, several small rocks, a brick, gobs of spittle flew after them as they were hurried to the entrance. As he reached it, Earle Holgren turned and gave them a jaunty finger, his contemptuous grin broadening into a sardonic grimace that plainly said, I am superior to all you poor, pathetic bastards. The ugly roar surged to fill the world. Across America, as his jeering face and gesture reached millions of his countrymen from their television screens, many and many a watcher grimly echoed Justice NOW!: Enough is enough.

  Inside the courtroom he sobered somewhat but there was still an air of unrepentant defiance about him that communicated itself instantly to those he had hurt as they glanced, trying not to glance, at his stocky, bearded figure. He turned and surveyed the room with the same contemptuous expression in his eyes, though his face now was not jeering but suddenly watchful.

  “I feel as though I am looking at an animal,” Mary whispered to Tay with a shudder he felt in his arm alongside hers.

  He nodded grimly.

  “Treed,” he whispered back, “but not yet cornered.”

  Next to her Sue-Ann Pomeroy drew in her breath sharply and seemed to flinch away a little as Earle’s slow and careful gaze swept across hers; but Moss stared back at him with a somber and expressionless appraisal that for just a second seemed to disconcert him. Then the second passed and quite deliberately, taking his time and letting them feel his contempt and superiority, he let his eyes wander on across the room until he had completed his examination. Then he turned his back on them and leaned his shoulder against Debbie, who had been watching his performance with tightly compressed lips.

  “Stupid bunch of jerks,” he muttered.

  “Don’t get too smart for them,” she remarked. “They might not like it.”

  “Hell,” he said, “that’s what you’re here for, sweets. You’ll get me out of it.”

  “Not if you act like a God damned preening egomaniac,” she told him savagely. She pulled away from his intimately pressing shoulder and began to go through her papers. He studied her for a moment, then snorted and turned with an again-contemptuous smile toward the bench.

  “The court will be in order,” the bailiff announced loudly. The audience stood up, the judge came in. Last to rise, with an elaborate show of boredom and disinterest noted in a sharp quick glance by the judge, was the defendant. He did, however, finally manage it; and after studying him for a moment with an amused little smile and an intent gaze that alarmed Debbie, the judge said, “Please be seated.” Quickly the audience obeyed. Slowly, so did Earle Holgren.

  The judge, carefully chosen, was Regard Stinnet’s friend, Perlie Williams—James Perle Williams in full, a transplanted Yankee from Pennsylvania who had been a South Carolinian since his parents had moved there when he was ten. His handling of the proceedings was crisp and to the point. Like Regard he was a hick only in season and this was not the season. He was a smart man and a judicious one and he tolerated no nonsense in his court. He too was aware of the publicity aspects of the case. His opening move caught both counsels off guard, though not for long.

  “The court is cognizant,” he said into the silence that abruptly descended over the standing-room-only audience of family, legal attendants, media, “that because of the nature of the crimes alleged against this defendant and because of the personal and emotional aspects of the matter insofar as this particular state is concerned, the selection of an unbiased jury may be an almost insurmountable task. However, it can be accomplished, providing counsel show a reasonable and equal determination to expedite. Will counsel approach the bench, please.”

  “Watch out for tricks!” Earle Holgren hissed. Debbie gave him an impatient look and hissed back, “Certainly!” But it was with considerable inner perturbation that she went to the bench.

  Regard, apparently not at all perturbed, gave her an ironic little bow and then turned, impassive, to Perlie Williams.

  “Now, I just want to tell you, young lady,” the judge murmured confidentially in his pleasant voice, “and you, too, Regard, that I am not standing for any frivolous challenges or any deliberate stalling. The state, and I think the nation, demand and expect a speedy trial and a swift conclusion. I realize that this may seem to be playing into the hands of opposing counsel, Miss Donnelson. On the other hand, if you must rely, as I think you largely must, on such public sympathy as you can muster for your client, your cause will not profit if it is generally perceived that you are deliberately delaying things. It is to everybody’s advantage to move right along; not to the endangerment of a fair trial, Miss Donnelson, but in the interests of justice and also of your own cause. Does that seem a reasonable conclusion?”

  “Suits me fine, your honor,” Regard replied briskly. Debbie hesitated.

  “The court is only asking reasonable restraint and prudence, after all,” Judge Williams pointed out. “I am determined not to have a circus.”

  “Very well, your honor,” she said at last. “In that understanding I shall certainly do what I can to speed it along—always reserving my just rights and those of my client, however.”

  “Certainly, counsel,” Perlie Williams said with some impatience. “No one is going to try to take them away.”

  “I hope not,” she said, giving Regard a sternly quizzical glance.

  “Absolutely not,” he agreed. “That’s the best way I know to get reversed on appeal. And,” he added grimly, “I don’t intend to get reversed on appeal on this one. Not by anybody, no time, no way.”

  “Very good,” Judge Williams said. “Court will be in order, please.” He turned to Regard. “Proceed, counsel.”

  But before Regard could speak, Debbie was on her feet.

  “Your honor,” she said, “I would like to request a change of venue.”

  There was a ripple of startled sound across the room.

  “Dear me,” Judge Williams said dryly. “Why is this, counsel?”

  “It is nothing personal, your honor,” she said hastily. “You appear to be scrupulously fair and my client and I are much heartened by this. My request is for transfer to the appropriate court in Charleston, South Carolina.”

  “It is indeed a charming city,” Perlie Williams conceded, and many in the audience laughed, “but is that sufficient reason for going there? Perhaps counsel can enlighten me.”

  “Your honor,” she said earnestly, “my reasons for this request are, I think, self-evident in view of the situation that prevails around this courthouse at the moment. It is no secret that we are in a very hostile climate here. Displays of hostility were so great when we entered that for a moment I actually feared for the life of my client”—a hoot of scorn came from somewhere, and Judge Williams rapped his gavel sharply—“and I certainly fear for any chance of a fair trial in this area. Not where your honor is concerned, as your honor knows. But simply because popular sympathy is very strongly on the side of Justice Pomeroy, perhaps to the exclusion of any possibility of a fair trial. That is the ground for my request, your honor.”

  “You will find,” Perlie Williams remarked, “that Pomeroys are fully as popular in Charleston as they are in Columbia, Miss Donnelson. And as for hostility toward what has happened and toward the one w
ho, rightly or wrongly, is held responsible by many citizens, I am afraid that it is not only statewide but nationwide. Therefore, while I sympathize with your concern about demonstrations of hostility outside the courtroom—which,” he added, looking sternly about—“will not be tolerated inside it—I am afraid I must reject your request for change of venue. Now, if we might proceed with the selection of a jury—?”

  “We are bitterly disappointed, your honor,” Debbie said, and looked it, “but must bow to your decision.”

  “Thank you,” Judge Williams said with some irony. “Bailiff will call the first prospective juror, please.”

  “Your honor,” Regard said smoothly, “before we proceed to that, the state would like to suggest most respectfully to your honor the possibility that television be admitted to these proceedings as well as the printed media.”

  “We agree, your honor,” Debbie said quickly.

  “Do you, now,” Perlie Williams said.

  “Yes, sir,” Debbie replied. “We believe the public interest, both here and throughout the nation—”

  “Throughout the world,” Regard interjected. She nodded.

  “—and in all probability throughout the world, would make it most advisable, or certainly most considerate of that interest, if television could be admitted. It would be an education for the public, we feel. And, I might add,” she said with a glance at her opponent, “a good protection for my client in case anyone tries to pull any tricks.”

  “Does counsel for the state agree with these arguments?” Judge Williams inquired with an amused expression to which Regard decided to respond with equal amusement.

  “Not entirely, your honor,” he said with a fatherly chuckle, “because counsel is obviously quite alert enough and determined enough to protect her client without help from television or anybody else. In addition to which, of course,” he remarked, less amicably, “nobody is goin’ to try to ‘pull any tricks’ on one who obviously, considering everything, deserves the most tender and solicitous treatment from the law—at least equal to the tender and solicitous treatment he has given others.”

  “Your honor,” Debbie said sharply, “I object to the implications of counsel’s remarks and counsel’s tone and I ask that his last sentence be stricken from the record.”

  “I think not,” Judge Williams said. “Mr. Stinnet did not object to counsel’s reference to ‘tricks’ and just now he did not name anyone in his own comment. I take it you both are agreed on television. The court has no aversion to it. Our space here is limited and it will have to be done on a rotating-pool basis, but it is perfectly agreeable to the court. The court will accept whatever arrangement the networks agree on. Now if we could return to the selection of a jury, bailiff will call the first prospective juror, please.”

  “Before that, your honor—” Regard said. Perlie Williams smiled rather wryly.

  “Yes? What is it now?”

  “Well, your honor,” Regard said earnestly, “there’s a lot of mighty fine folks outside there who have a great interest in what’s goin’ on in here, and it just occurred to me that maybe it would be a kindly act to string up some loudspeakers and broadcast the proceedin’s directly to them. I’m just wonderin’ if your honor’s tolerance would extend to that?”

  “Your honor,” Debbie said, “we really must object. The temper of that crowd out there is already inflamed enough. I think it would be entirely too prejudicial to my client and entirely too much of a handicap to me. I think it would make a three-ring circus out of these proceedings and create a constant hostile pressure on my client and me which would be most deleterious—”

  “Miss Donnelson,” Perlie Williams said in a kindly voice, “these folks, as counsel for the state accurately says, are vitally interested in what is going on here. I don’t really think an arrangement such as Mr. Stinnet suggests is going to create any more hostility to your client than obviously already exists. We don’t want it to be said that anybody tried to curtail their First Amendment rights to receive all the information they can, and receive it instantaneously and directly, now, do we?”

  “Your honor,” Debbie said, “you know and I know, with all respect, that the First Amendment has nothing to do with it, since it covers the dissemination, not the reception, of information. Loudspeakers would be a most strained interpretation of—”

  “Ah, but Miss Donnelson,” Judge Williams said. “Ah, Miss Donnelson, somebody will say so. Somebody will argue that loudspeakers do disseminate information and that they cannot be curtailed, under the First Amendment. And God knows we have enough problems with this case already, don’t we, without that? No, I think we will accept your suggestion, Mr. Stinnet. It won’t do any harm, in the court’s estimation, and it might do some good in moving things along. And now if we could return to the jury? Bailiff?”

  “Your honor,” Debbie was on her feet before the bailiff could respond, “we wish to announce that we waive all rights of selection and challenge.”

  There was a startled stir from the audience. Regard was also on his feet like a shot.

  “Your honor!” he protested, for a moment looking genuinely, even comically, dismayed. At Debbie’s side her client poked her arm with an audible chuckle and said, quite loudly, “Good for you!”

  “Your honor,” Regard said, recovering rapidly but still obviously taken aback, “this is most irregular!”

  “I don’t know of any law that says we have to select or challenge prospective jurors,” Debbie remarked. “It is a right, not an obligation. Am I not correct, your honor?”

  “You are,” Perlie Williams agreed. “You intrigue me, counsel. I’m interested in the reasoning behind your decision. Would you care to share it with the court? You don’t have to, but it would be interesting.”

  “Gladly, your honor,” Debbie said crisply. “Because our point that the climate here is such that it is highly prejudiced against the defendant has been brushed aside; request for a change of venue based upon that obvious prejudice has been denied; television has been admitted; loudspeakers have been approved; and now I want the country to see exactly what I was talking about. Therefore it is obvious that counsel for the state must have a completely free hand in selecting exactly the type of jury he wants—prejudiced, biased, completely unfair—the only kind that can possibly be selected in this jurisdiction given the atmosphere I objected to. My perfectly valid and soundly based objection was dismissed. Very well, let him have his way. The country can judge for itself.”

  “Your honor,” Regard said, breathing hard but managing to keep his temper. “I object most strongly, both professionally and personally, to opposing counsel’s remarks. They themselves are prejudicial to me, prejudicial to a fair public judgment of this case, prejudicial to potential jurors themselves. I object, your honor. I object!”

  “The court will admonish counsel for the defendant to be perhaps a little more polite in her references to counsel for the state,” Judge Williams said, “but I don’t see what else I can do. She doesn’t have to select or challenge if she doesn’t want to, counsel. What would you suggest?”

  “But she is simply, deliberately, laying the groundwork for an appeal!” Regard said angrily.

  “What else would you have a good lawyer do, counsel?” Judge Williams inquired. “Isn’t that part of her duty as defense attorney?”

  “I am also, your honor,” Debbie said blandly, “making my contribution to opposing counsel’s, and your honor’s, desire for a speedy trial. We’re going to save a great deal of time for you, here. I should think counsel for the state would be gratefully applauding my action, instead of puffing up like an indignant catfish.”

  “I will suggest to counsel for the defense again,” Perlie Williams said, “that she restrain her tendency to indulge herself in that kind of verbiage. There is an atmosphere here which is not friendly to her client, as she truly says, and she will not make it more friendly by such tactics.”

  There was a burst of applause, long and l
oud, which caused Earle Holgren to swing around angrily. An immediate hail of boos responded and Debbie yanked hard at his arm. He gave her a glance but turned back. She stood up with dignity.

  “I thank your honor for his generous suggestion,” she said, “and I shall try to abide by it. Meanwhile, jury selection may proceed without us.”

  And after a few more moments of grumbling from Regard, endorsed with further applause from the audience but not in the slightest moving Debbie, it did. Regard recovered his poise, took his time, by noon had dismissed twenty of the sixty-seven called. Judge Williams recessed court for an hour, a much-diminished crowd again applauded its favorites and harassed the defendant as they made their separate ways to lunch. After lunch the process resumed. By 3 p.m. Regard had dismissed thirty of the forty-seven remaining, went carefully back over the seventeen left, dismissed five, got his twelve. He made very sure that all were college graduates, professional people: six men and six women; six whites and six blacks; one twenty-three, one twenty-seven, one sixty-five and one seventy, the remaining eight ranging between fifty and fifty-five.

  “I intend to get a balance,” he remarked at one point to Perlie Williams, “and since counsel for the defense will not help me, I intend to make sure it is a balance.”

  At the end of the process Judge Williams congratulated him and Debbie stood up.

  “Your honor,” she said, “I wish to congratulate counsel for the state on the good job he has done in selecting his jury. I, too, believe he has selected a well-balanced panel that will very adequately discharge the task he desires it to perform.”